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“So you can talk me out of it? Dai, Bennett.”

Bennett rubbed his eyes. “No. Well, maybe. But it’s more so I can prepare myself.”

Everything inside Nico recoiled at this idea. He wasn’t answerable to anyone; that was the perk of being the boss. The decisions were his and his alone. He might ask for Filippo’s opinion now and again, but Nico was the head of the family. And he didn’t discuss family business with outsiders.

The problem was that Bennett felt less and less like an outsider every time they were together.

And Nico wasn’t stupid. Exacting revenge on one of Bennett’s teammates would change how Bennett felt about him. He’d much rather never say a word and hope that Bennett forgot about it. Then they could continue meeting up in secret until one of them grew tired of the other.

After tossing the cloth into the washroom, Nico dropped onto the bed next to Bennett, close enough to see the shadows in Bennett’s eyes. His chest did something odd, like he had heartburn. Unintentionally, his voice softened as his thumb stroked the rough skin of Bennett’s jaw. “It is better if you do not know this side of what I do.”

“I already know. Not details, obviously, but I have a good idea.”

“There is a difference between knowing and knowing, capisce?”

Bennett exhaled through his nose, like he was frustrated. “In every other case, that would be true. But this is my team, my guys. I’m the one who will be standing in front of the media answering questions about it.”

“All the more reason you should not know.”

“But what if I slip and say something, or they catch me by surprise? I need to be prepared, Nico. I don’t want to put you at risk.” He grabbed Nico’s wrist, holding on tight. “I won’t try to stop you. I just need time to prepare before the shit hits the fan.”

Nico’s chest filled, expanded with feeling, almost too much to contain. This beautiful man was willing to lie, to go against everything in his nature just to protect Nico, even knowing he’d killed someone. It was humbling. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but he couldn’t refuse.

Leaning down, he pressed his mouth to Bennett’s, brushing their lips together. “I will call you. So you can be prepared for what comes next.”

Bennett’s fingers curled into Nico’s hair as he pulled him in closer for another kiss. “Thank you, bello,” Bennett murmured.

And with that endearment, Nico knew he was well and truly fucked.

CHAPTER 24

The door chimed as Bennett entered Café Orange, the coffee shop he visited every morning. He liked this place and they had great coffee. It was usually empty when he came here, except he was running a bit behind today, which probably had something to do with a hot mafia boss fucking him late into the night. Bennett’s body was sore in all the very best places today and he probably had a goofy grin on his face.

After greeting the staff, he waited while they made his usual, his fingers scrolling hockey news on his phone. Carolina was on a fucking tear this month, getting hot at exactly the right time before playoffs, which sucked for everyone else in the Eastern⁠—

“Bennett Verreault?”

A young woman stood there, her dark hair pulled up in a pony tail, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee. Not the usual hockey fan who tended to stop him in public, but he switched into professional captain mode easily. “Hello,” he said politely. “Nice to meet you. Are you a Reign fan?”

A funny look passed over her face. “No, definitely not.” She took a sip of her coffee and studied him. “I’m Sofia Marzano.”

Bennett’s stomach dropped. It was like the floor disappeared beneath his feet, casting him into free fall. Nico’s cousin. Sofia. The girl who⁠—

Shit. Bennett didn’t know what to say. No media training in the world could have prepared him for this. How had she found him here? And why? Did Nico know about this? Did she know about him and Nico? “I-I . . . ” Nope. No words.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “I get it. I’m probably the last person you expected to see here this morning.”

One of the last, yeah. He cleared his throat. “How did you . . .?” There were so many ways to finish that sentence, but none that he wanted to ask in public.

Thankfully, the barista set his cold brew with an extra shot on the counter, distracting him. “There you go, Mr. Verreault.”

“Thanks, Marielle.” As if on auto-pilot, he added a few bills to the tip jar, then turned back to Sofia and found her watching him carefully.

“Can we sit down?” she asked, jerking her head toward the small tables.

Reeling, he nodded because he couldn’t think of what else to do. Short of teleporting to another time and space, or running out the door like a coward, he was stuck. She led him to a table far away from everyone else, thankfully, so he lowered himself into the empty chair opposite her. His heart pounded wildly, like he’d just finished a run, but he had to speak, to say something. Apologize, ask how she was doing. “I’m⁠—”

“So, you and my uncle.” She casually swirled the liquid in her plastic cup, seemingly unconcerned about the bomb she’d just dropped in semi-public.